Not Before Midnight (Sheriff Bud Blair Oregon Mystery Series Book 5)

by Rod Collins

  Without saying anything, Dutch pointed at two empty chairs next to him and spoke into the phone, “They just walked in. We’ll have this set up in about ten minutes. We’ll call you back then, sir.”

  Wilcox looked at Brandt and mouthed the word “Sir?” Brandt shrugged and shook his head. Never had they heard Dutch be so deferential.

  Dutch’s secretary walked in and handed Wilcox and Brandt each a coffee-filled Styrofoam cup, cream and sugar for Brandt. “For me?” Brandt said.

  She frowned and scolded him. “Don’t be a smartass, today of all days.” They looked at their coffee and watched her walk from the room.

  “Curiousier and curiousier,” Brandt whispered to Wilcox.

  A tall, thin man with a bald head and a gray ponytail carried an electronic notebook to the table and placed it in front of Dutch.

  Wilcox knew him from tech support, Terry something or other, a nerd who defied the FBI dress code, with his tie-dyed shirts and long hair.

  Joseph Smith, Dutch’s Assistant SAC, slipped into the conference room, followed closely by Miranda Wright, her hand in a light cast. They claimed two vacant chairs across from Brandt and Wilcox.

  Terry, from tech support, opened the phone Dutch handed him, pulled the SIM card out, and plugged it into a port on the side of the notebook. He opened the screen and told Dutch, “You just scroll the messages until you find the one you want, and then send it. You can all listen in. I’ve also set your wall monitors to video conferencing. Would you like me to start it now?”

  Dutch shook his head. “No. We know how to do this. Thank you, Terry.”

  Terry might be a nerd, but he knew a dismissal when he heard it. He nodded and left, but not before saying over his shoulder, “If you need any help…”

  Dutch waited until the door closed before saying, “I’m keeping this under wraps until after this conference. We’ll be talking with the FBI Director, the U.S. Attorney General, and the Secretary of Homeland Security. I want to keep the circle small.”

  In spite of himself, Smith glanced at Miranda. Dutch caught the look. “I can almost hear your gears turning, Smitty. Why, you may ask, after finding a leak in the analysis group, would I include Agent Wright?

  “Two answers. First, I’m certain Miss Williams was the only leak. Wright was never under suspicion. And second, I asked Agent Wright to listen to Al-Alwani’s confession. When she heard him talk about a terrorist attack forthcoming, she connected the dots, based on her earlier interview with Reverend Wildish. We now have a lead on two people who may be connected to a plot to poison Portland’s water supply.

  “As an aside, I can’t understand why the open reservoirs, both Bull Run and those within the city, are not guarded. Talk about a soft target.

  “But back to the point. That person and his wife – who actually works for the Portland Water Bureau – are being sought as we speak. We’ll send agents to interview these people. I’ll get into that after the conference.”

  Miranda tried not to look smug, but her pleasure at the compliment was visible to Wilcox and Brandt.

  Brandt held out his hand. “Way to go, Miranda!”

  “Amen,” echoed Wilcox.

  ***

  The agents in Portland found themselves, via video conference, being introduced to FBI Director Barnett (Barney) Bidwell, to General Ivan Vance, Secretary of Homeland Security, and to Attorney General Georgia Sherman. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, but when Hector Wilson, Vice President of the United States, came on line with an apology from the President, they were all surprised.

  All but Dutch.

  Wilcox connected the “Sir” to the Vice President and knew to whom Dutch had been so deferential.

  “The president,” Wilson said, “sends his apology. I’m filling in, but I’m quite positive he’ll want his own briefing a bit later in the day. So, what do you gentlemen have for us?”

  Dutch nodded and started the recording of Al-Alwani’s confession. No one said anything for the next fifteen minutes.

  Finally, The VP interrupted. “I’ve heard enough. Does Portland’s mayor know about this? Maybe this’ll change his notion about sanctuary cities.”

  Dutch didn’t bite on that bit of political bait. He just said, “We plan to detain and interview our two suspects within the hour and then inform the mayor.”

  They could see General Vance nod. “Keep us posted. I’ll have our agents contact you.”

  The vice president audibly sighed. They watched a look of deep sorrow paint his face. “I think the president would like to talk in person with the two agents who broke this open.” He looked directly into the camera. “Forgive me, but I don’t remember your names.”

  Dutch nodded. “Special Agent Wilcox and Special Agent Brandt.”

  And former Special FBI Agent Butler, Brandt thought.

  The vice president stared directly into the camera again. “I’ll have to check the president’s calendar, but I know he’ll want you two back here … and soon. Thank you, gentlemen. And lady. Good job.” His image faded from the screen.

  From his office in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, the director saw the group at the table in Portland start to fidget. “Hold on a minute. I’ll want Brandt and Wilcox here first. Dutch, get them on a plane ASAP.”

  Wilcox objected. “With all due respects, sir, we are needed here.”

  “I understand. Good for you. But I still want you back here as soon as you can pack your gear and get your asses on a plane. Understood?”

  Brandt’s first thought was the need to call Jenny Jackson and cancel their date. No fresh lobster tonight, he thought. No fresh anything.

  His second thought was to take a different tack. “Something you should know, sir, is that the person responsible for breaking this open is Agent Wright. She put the pieces of the puzzle together.”

  There was a pause before Director Bidwell said, “Okay. In that case bring her with you.”

  Chapter 60

  Roundup

  SUPERINTENDENT BLANKENSHIP SHOOK his head and waved his correctional officers back across the street to where Bud and BB stood guard at one end of the line of zip-cuffed bikers.

  “Well Sheriff, you and your friend have more guts than brains, but it worked.” He held out his hand to BB and said, “Bob Blankenship.”

  BB shifted the shotgun to his left hand and reached out with his right. “I’m Deputy Dell BeBe. Looks like you brought help when we needed it most. Thank you. I know my shorts were in a wad there for a while.”

  Blankenship took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He shook his head, “Mine, too.” He looked down the line at the fifty-two-person crazy quilt pattern of red biker rags, blue bandanas, the red and gold logos of The Romans on leather vests and leather jackets, chains dangling from belts, empty knife sheaths, tobacco-stained beards, and nasty looks.

  One biker shouted, “We’ll get you for this,” only to be told to shut up by another biker.

  Blankenship asked, “What now?”

  Bud said, “I don’t know. It’s for sure we don’t have enough jail space. You got any room?”

  “Short term. I can give you the gym at Warner Creek. Just for a few days, though.”

  “Good. That’ll do.” He thought about the grant money coming their way and nodded. “We can pay you to feed them and keep ‘em locked up … short term. How do we transport?”

  “I can take a dozen at a time in our van.”

  Bud’s cell phone chimed, and he glanced at the screen. Emergency Services. “I better take this.”

  Nancy was on the line, “Bud, a Klamath Falls SWAT team just landed at the airport. They need transportation.”

  “How many?”

  “The man who called said he and three others … plus their gear.”

  “Turn them around. And tell them thanks, but we’ve got the situation under control.”

  “On it,” she laughed. “Karen just sent me a photo of all those men sitting on the sidewalk, with all those motorcycles blocking
the street. How did you do that?”

  “Just luck, I reckon.”

  She sounded a bit peeved, but proud all at the same time. “You and BB are nuts. That’s probably what scared them. Two lunatics armed with shotguns.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Half the town is watching cell phone videos. I’d say your re-election is a cinch. And I think I’ll marry you even if you are crazy.” He heard her laugh again, just before she killed the call.

  Bud put his phone away and held out his hand to Blankenship. “I owe you big-time, Bob. Give me a minute. I have a call to make. Can you and your men stick around for a bit? We’ll process these guys and then start moving them out to Warner Creek.”

  Roger came down the front steps of the courthouse, his .308 cradled in his left arm. District Attorney Howard Finch was right behind him.

  Howard held out his hand. “Nice job, Bud.” He looked at the line of bikers and shook his head. “Darndest thing I ever saw. You are beyond crazy – right up there with plumb loco. I know it for a fact because I saw it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t believe it. And your friend Dell BeBe isn’t any saner than you.” He took a breath, “What now?”

  “First, we process this group. ID, fingerprints, check for outstanding warrants, and arrest each of them for disturbing the peace. Then we move them to Warner Creek.”

  He looked at the leader of the gang and added, “All but him. He stays.” The big biker didn’t say anything, but if looks could kill, Bud was in for it.

  He looked at Roger and pointed at the man. “Put him in our jail. He is under arrest for threatening a law enforcement officer … me.”

  Chapter 61

  Come and Get ‘Em

  IT TOOK THE LOCAL TOWING COMPANY two hours to load the motorcycles on trailers and haul them to the horse barn at the fairgrounds for safe keeping. Four hours after the arrests, the Lake County Sheriff’s office sent out a list of the names and photos of each biker in custody. Sheriff Blair was very clear in his message: If you want them, come and get them.

  Within minutes, Karen Highsmith was swamped by phone calls, email messages, and photos. She was busy matching names and photos sent by police agencies from San Diego to Seattle with the mugshots she took as each biker was processed.

  The arrival of Sergeant Booker, from the Klamath Falls Police Department, signaled what would become a flood of lawmen coming to retrieve criminals wanted on a variety of charges.

  ***

  Sergeant Booker walked into the station, spotted Bud talking to a nicely dressed woman, and heard Bud say, “That’s all I can tell you for now, Mayor. Didn’t the council pass a noise ordinance last night?”

  Gladys McKnight nodded, a mischievous grin tugging at her mouth. “Yes we did, Sheriff.”

  “Good. And thank you. We’ll write each of these miserable specimens a citation accordingly. Now, Gladys, I’ve got my hands full. If you feel compelled to talk to the press, please do so.”

  He turned, spotted the name tag and held out his hand. “Sergeant Booker, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “And nice to meet you, Sheriff. Reverend Wildish can’t say enough nice things about you.”

  “How is TJ?”

  “Anxious to go home.”

  “I imagine that should be possible before long.”

  Booker nodded and chuckled. “You know for a big-city dude, he is genuinely naïve. But I think it works for him. He just oozes sincerity, and people respond. If I could talk him into staying and helping our church I would.”

  Bud gave him a tired grin, “He might be safer.”

  Booker nodded, “How can we help?”

  Bud handed the sergeant a list of names and addresses – or at least names and addresses from the ID each prisoner provided. The truth wasn’t often a close companion of The Romans.

  “Any of these guys yours?”

  Booker scanned the list and nodded. “We have a warrant for the arrest of Bobby Lee Jones. And one for Sheldon Moncrief. I wouldn’t mind taking them off your hands.”

  “Good. Those two are out at Warner Creek. Know your way out there?”

  “I do.”

  A phone rang and Bud heard Karen answer. “Lake County Sheriff’s Office.” A pause followed, then she said, “Yes, he is. I’ll put him on.”

  She looked at Bud and whispered, “The governor.”

  He shook his head. “Not now. Take a number and let her know I’ll call back in half an hour. And copy these warrants for me. The originals go with Sergeant Booker.”

  “Bud! It’s the governor!” she protested.

  “Good for her.”

  Booker was grinning when he turned and held out his hand. “Sergeant Booker, thanks for being so prompt. Give TJ my regards. When we get more news from the FBI, I’ll let him know.”

  The two men decided they liked one another.

  Karen Highsmith watched and shook her head. Like two peas in a pod, she thought … before a new message drew her attention back to the job of matching felons with outstanding warrants.

  Chapter 62

  Crossing the Bar

  A WHITE BUS, with “The Connector” printed in large blue letters along its white sides, pulled up to the bus stop sign in front of the mini mart in Scappoose. It was headed west, Butler’s preferred direction, so he followed the young woman he’d rescued from the three homeless bandits up the steps and into the bus.

  They settled into a seat near the back, away from the five other passengers, then Butler took in a deep breath and let it out with an audible sigh.

  The woman looked sideways at him, blinked twice and asked, in a nearly inaudible whisper, “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Help me get away.”

  Butler frowned and shrugged. “You looked like you wanted help.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not used to that. You sure you just didn’t want to keep me for yourself?”

  He studied her dull brown hair, the smudge of dirt on one cheek, her broken fingernails – long past dirty – and shook his head. “I don’t think you’re my type.”

  “Why not? I clean up pretty good.”

  He laughed, “I’ll bet you do, but you’re young enough to be my daughter.”

  The hour it took to reach the Astoria Transit Center was enough for Butler to pump the girl for information. Millicent Andrews, age twenty-four, orphaned at age seven – thanks to a fatal car crash that took her mother, father and two brothers. Adopted by an abusive couple, on the streets by age fifteen, picked up for prostitution and placed in foster care until age eighteen. “I peddled drugs, stole food and whatever else I could get my hands on, but I stopped taking drugs, and I quit selling sex.”

  She plucked at her dirty coat and laughed. “Believe it or not, I have a germ fetish.”

  Butler shook his head and chuckled. “Well, Milly, it’s hard to see that.”

  “Do you mean it, about giving me enough money to get home on?”